PART 2: A Navy SEAL walked into my clinic with a dog he swore had ended men. Ten minutes

PART 2:

His whispered words hung in the air like smoke.

“That’s impossible.”

I looked up slowly, still holding Ghost against my chest.

“What’s impossible?”

The SEAL’s eyes darted between me and the dog. His hand moved instinctively toward his sidearm before stopping.

“He was reported dead.”

“I know he was.”

“No. You don’t understand.” He swallowed hard. “I read the report. I saw the casualty documentation. The euthanasia record.”

The words landed like a physical blow.

Euthanasia.

They had told me Ghost died in action. They had never mentioned a euthanasia record.

Because if there was a euthanasia record, that meant someone had taken Ghost alive from Afghanistan.

And then lied about what happened to him.

Ghost pressed his nose against my chin, as if sensing the shift in my body.

“I need to see that record,” I said.

“It’s classified.”

“Then you need to decide if you want to help me or leave.”

The SEAL stood motionless for a long moment.

Veterans in the waiting room had gone quiet. Paula hovered near the reception desk, watching my face for instructions.

The man finally spoke, his voice low.

“My name is Caleb Ward.”

“I already heard you say that.”

“No. I mean my real name.”

My pulse skipped.

“Which is?”

“Carter.”

The name hit me somewhere deep and primal.

Carter was the call sign of a Navy medic who had served in my old unit. A quiet man who had always kept to himself. He had been reassigned to a different team three months before Ethan disappeared.

“Your face,” I whispered. “You look different.”

“I had surgery.”

“Why?”

“To look like a different person.”

I stared at him.

“Who are you running from?”

“I don’t know yet.”

The confession was unsettling. A Navy SEAL claiming he didn’t know who was hunting him.

Paula stepped forward. “Madison, I think we need to close the clinic.”

I nodded quickly.

“Lock the door. Bring the remaining patients to the back.”

The two veterans left without complaint. One of them touched my shoulder on the way out.

“You take care, Doc.”

“I will.”

I moved toward exam room two and gestured for Caleb—Carter—to follow.

Ghost walked beside me, refusing to leave my side.

Inside the room, I turned.

“Start from the beginning.”

“Ghost was recovered in Kandahar, three days after the operation.”

“The operation Night Lantern?”

His eyes snapped to mine.

“You know about that?”

“Ethan and I named it.”

He stared at me.

“You were there.”

“I was.”

I hadn’t spoken about Night Lantern in seven years.

That night had been a disaster from the first transmission.

A small team inserted to rescue a valuable asset. Ethan and Ghost were on point. I was assigned to a support position two miles out.

Everything went wrong.

Conflicting intel.

Bad weather.

Three separate firefights.

And then silence.

His name came back to you a week later.

“Ghost was found wandering near the extraction point. Malnourished. Wounded. Alone.”

“What about Ethan?”

“There was no sign of him.”

“They left him.”

“I don’t know.”

“Where was Ghost taken?”

“A private kennel in Germany. Then to Virginia.”

“And the euthanasia record?”

Carter pulled out his phone and showed me a document.

The date was nine months after the mission.

The dog listed was your Ghost. Breed was incorrect on purpose. Its age was wrong, too. It was clearly an official falsification.

I reached the lower part of the screen slowly.

The release order was signed by a medical officer I did not recognize.

But the approving authorization had been entered by a senior officer.

One I knew.

My heart sank.

“Commander James Holt.”

“You know him?”

“I served under him.”

“Was he—”

“I don’t know what he was.”

But I knew one thing.

Holt had been there that night.

He had called off the search for Ethan.

He told me there was nothing left to find.

And now his name was connected to Ghost’s fake death.

I placed my hand on Ghost’s head.

He leaned into me heavily.

“Do you still have access to Holt?” I asked.

“No,” Carter said. “He was reassigned after an internal review.”

“When?”

“Three months after Ghost was turned over to me.”

“It sounds like they covered their tracks.”

“No,” Carter said slowly. “They covered yours.”

The words stayed in the air.

“How do you figure that?”

“Think about it,” he said. “They kept Ghost alive but reported him dead. They gave him new records, new name, new home. And then the moment I got assigned to him—” my internal review flagged the anomalies in his file.

I saw the pieces fitting together even before he said them.

“Because he responded to you.”

“No,” Carter said. “Because he responded to your voice.”

The chills spread across my skin.

I had never spoken to Ghost in the clinic.

Not until I whispered “Lantern.”

And the handler before Carter had made the same mistake.

He had met someone who looked like me. Or heard my voice on a recording. And Ghost reacted.

And they started asking questions.

“Who gave you the order to bring him here?”

“The same source who flagged the file.”

A dead address.

A burner phone.

A message that said: Bring the dog to Norfolk. Ask for the vet. Say the dog’s name is Ghost.

I let out a breath.

“Someone is pulling strings.”

“Someone has been pulling strings for seven years.”

Ghost suddenly lifted his head.

His ears went forward in alert.

Someone in the building.

Carter moved toward the door.

Paula’s voice came through the hallway.

“Madison, there’s someone here to see you.”

“Paula, I said we were closed.”

“He says it’s urgent.”

“What name?”

There was a pause.

Then Paula walked into the exam room, her face pale.

“He says he knows who you were.”

The cold feeling in my chest spread outward.

Carter looked at me.

“Who would say that?”

“Only one person,” I whispered.

The door to the exam room slowly opened.

A man stepped inside.

He was smaller than I remembered. Grayer. Slower. His face had aged twenty years in seven.

But his eyes were the same.

Bright blue. Sharp. Unforgiving.

Commander James Holt.

“Madison,” he said quietly. “I know you have questions.”

Ghost started to growl a deep, trembling sound that filled the room.

Holt looked at the dog with something in his expression I couldn’t name.

“He remembers me,” he said.

“I think he remembers what you did.”

Holt nodded slowly.

“I know.”

“You let me believe Ethan was dead for seven years.”

“I did,” Holt said. “But I didn’t bury him. And the reason is standing in this room right now.”

That made no sense.

Then Holt pulled out a folded photograph.

A recent one.

A man standing beside a field of tall grass. Thin. Older.

Alive.

My hands were shaking hard enough to blur the image.

“Is that—”

“Ethan Cross.”

“No.” I stepped back. “You lied to me. You’re lying now.”

“I have never lied to you, Madison.”

“You told me he was dead!”

“No,” Holt said. “I told you I couldn’t find him. You decided he was dead. And I let you believe it because keeping you separate from him was the only way to keep you alive.”

The explanation only made me angrier.

“Where is he?”

“Somewhere safe.”

“Where is he?”

Holt’s eyes shifted to Carter.

“Do you know who he is?”

“His name is Caleb Ward—”

“No,” Holt cut him off. “His name is Mark.”

The room became sharper.

A memory surged forward.

Ethan had told me about a friend from basic training. A quiet kid from Ohio. He had gone dark after a deployment in Syria.

“That mission in Syria,” I murmured. “It was a cover.”

“Yes.”

“For what?”

Holt looked at Ghost.

“For the extraction you should never have been part of.”

Carter—Mark—stared at the floor.

I turned to him.

“Do you know where Ethan is?”

He shook his head.

“Only the man who sent me knows.”

Holt reached into his jacket and pulled out a folded envelope.

“I was told to give this to you if you ever came back.”

“Who told you?”

“Someone who has been waiting for you for seven years.”

The envelope was worn at the edges. The seal was unbroken.

I took it.

Inside was a single sheet of paper.

Handwritten.

The writing was unmistakably Ethan’s.

Madison,

If you’re reading this, I’m still alive. And if you’re reading this, I’ve been waiting for the day you find out.

I need you to know something.

I never stopped loving you.

And I never stopped being afraid of what they would do to you if you knew the truth.

The truth is bigger than one mission. It’s bigger than me and you.

But I need you to remember what I taught you about field medicine: treat the wound, not the symptom.

That’s not how I survived.

And that’s not how you will.

Come find me.

The coordinates will catch you.

Love always,

Ethan.

There was something tucked beneath the paper.

A small key.

Brass. Worn. Stamped with a number.

No lock to match.

But I knew old Navy protocol. This key belonged to a safety deposit box, secure storage, or a dead drop.

“Do you know what this opens?” I asked Holt.

“No. I was only told to deliver it if I was sure your memories had returned.”

“Memories of what?”

“Of the event you’ve been blocking.”

I blinked.

“I don’t have any blocked memory.”

“You do,” Holt said softly. “You buried it. The mind does that to protect itself.”

“From what?”

“From the truth of what happened to Ethan.”

“You just told me he’s alive.”

“He’s alive because you saved him.”

The words made no sense.

“I wasn’t there.”

“Yes, you were.”

Ghost suddenly licked my hand.

Almost reassuring.

But I didn’t feel reassured.

I felt like I was standing inside a dream where gravity had stopped working.

“I need more, Holt.”

“I don’t have more,” Holt said. “I gave you the letter. I gave you the key. The next step is your choice.”

He moved toward the door.

“Wait.”

Holt paused.

“The second survivor,” I said. “Someone told me today there was another extracted from Night Lantern.”

Holt’s face changed.

“Who told you that?”

“Does it matter?”

“It matters if they want to hurt you.”

“Is it true?”

Holt hesitated a long time.

“Yes.”

“Who is the second survivor?”

Holt opened his mouth.

Then the lights went out.

Ghost reacted instantly, body stiffening into a tense stance.

Carter moved to the window, sliding the blinds down.

Paula shouted from the front.

The backup lights hummed to life after a second.

But Holt was gone.

The door stood open.

Outside, the rain had stopped.

Carter yanked the door and stepped into the hallway.

Empty.

“He’s gone.”

“No,” I whispered. “He didn’t go far.”

I reached into my pocket.

The key was still there.

I looked at it again. The number was clear.

537.

“Have you seen this number before?”

Carter squinted at it.

“No.”

But something stirred in my memory.

Late night conversations after a mission. Ethan and I lying side by side in the dark.

“If I ever go missing,” he had said. “Look for the number.”

“What number?”

“Five-three-seven. I’ll hide it like a breadcrumb.”

I had laughed, thinking it was nonsense.

Now I knew it wasn’t.

Ghost pushed his nose against the key.

Then he looked toward the back exit.

“I need to follow his trail, Carter.”

“You don’t even know where he is.”

“I know where he hid the memories.”

I turned to Paula.

“Can you close the clinic tomorrow?”

“Take as long as you need.”

I walked to the back, unlocked the service door, and stepped outside.

The alley was dark and quiet except for dripping gutters.

Ghost took a step forward and looked back at me.

Waiting.

“Go,” I whispered.

Ghost turned east and began to run.

I followed him into the dark.

PART 2:

Ghost’s paws splashed through puddles, his nose low to the ground, tracking a scent only he could read.

The rain had stopped, but the streets were still slick. Orange streetlight reflected off the wet asphalt like shattered glass.

I kept my hand loose on the leash, letting him guide me. My boots soaked through in three blocks.

The key burned in my pocket like a brand.

We moved east, away from the clinic. Away from Carter. Away from the life I had built out of grief.

Ghost turned down a side street lined with shuttered warehouses. The smell of salt water replaced the smell of wet concrete.

He stopped in front of a rusted gate bearing a sign: “Locket Way Self-Storage.”

The gate was unlocked.

I pushed it open, and the hinges screamed.

Row after row of metal units stretched into the dark. Ghost moved with purpose, passing unit 104, 218, 342.

Then he stopped at unit 537.

The key trembled in my hand. I slid it into the padlock and turned.

The lock clicked open.

Ghost pushed the door with his nose. The metal door rolled upward with a sound like gravel pouring down a chute.

Inside was a single wooden crate. No dust, no webs. Someone had been here recently.

I pulled the crate open.

On top lay a folded set of fatigues. Field worn, torn at one sleeve. The name tape above the right pocket read “CROSS.”

My fingers touched the fabric. It was still damp with rain.

Beneath the uniform sat a metal lockbox.

The key turned. The lid creaked open.

Inside: a microcassette recorder, an older model, the kind we used before phones were reliable. A folded map with a red circle near a mountain range west of Virginia. And a photograph.

The photograph was of me and another woman. We looked to be in our early twenties. She wore a Navy uniform I didn’t recognize. Her face was partially torn away.

On the back, in Ethan’s handwriting: “Find Mara before they do.”

I didn’t know a Mara.

But the name settled in my chest like a memory trying to surface.

I reached for the recorder. My hand was steady until I pressed play.

Static hissed for three seconds.

Then Ethan’s voice, hoarse and urgent:

“Madison, you were there. You just blocked it. They showed me the medical records. You survived the same extraction. You were pulled out by a separate team, two hours before me. They wiped your memory to hide you. But you have a sister, and she was the target. Not me. Not the asset. Mara. The program needed her bloodline, and they used you to get to her. The key you have is the only thing that can stop them. Do not trust Carter. Do not trust Holt. Trust Ghost. He knows the way. Walk the perimeter of the dead yard, and you’ll find the door they sealed. Come alone. I’ll be waiting.”

The tape ended.

The silence that followed felt louder than the recording.

Carter’s face surfaced in my mind. The way he had flinched at my question about Holt. The way he had lied about his name.

“What are you not telling me?” I whispered.

The metal door suddenly rattled.

I spun around, reaching for the knife I kept strapped to my ankle.

A figure stood silhouetted against the dim light of the storage yard. Tall. Female. Arms at her sides.

“You shouldn’t have opened that lockbox,” the woman said.

Ghost pressed against my leg, a low growl building in his chest.

I stepped forward, letting the light hit her face.

Dr. Elena Marsh. I knew her from a conference on neuro-trauma and memory retention. She had presented a paper on recovering suppressed recollections in combat veterans.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“I placed that crate.”

“Why?”

“Because Ethan asked me to protect it until you found it.”

“He’s been in contact with you?”

“He was my patient. For the last year. At a private facility.”

“Where?”

“I can tell you. But first, you need to understand what you’re walking into.”

I set the lockbox back in the crate, keeping the map and the photograph in my jacket.

“Talk.”

Elena stepped into the unit fully. Up close, her face was tense. Dark circles under her eyes. She had not slept in days.

“Mara is your twin.”

The world tilted sideways.

I grabbed the edge of the crate.

“I don’t have a twin.”

“You do. She was taken at birth and placed in a separate family. The program recruited her young. By the time you entered the military, she was already a classified operative under the code name River.”

“That’s insane.”

“It’s classified,” Elena repeated. “The bloodline was valuable because it showed resistance to certain biological agents. Mara had that marker. You had it too.”

I shook my head, stepping back.

“You’re lying.”

“I have proof.”

She reached into her coat and handed me a file folder.

Inside was a birth certificate with two names. Madison and Mara Cole. Both born the same day. Same mother. Same hospital.

Then a photograph of the two of us as children. I remembered that dress. I remembered that birthday cake. I had never forgotten the face next to mine. I had just been told it was a cousin.

But I recognized her eyes.

“Where is she now?” I whispered.

Elena’s expression hardened.

“She was extracted the same night as you. But she was never debriefed. She was placed in a black-site facility under the Kestrel program. They kept her to study the marker. When she tried to escape, they moved her. That’s why Ethan stayed dead to you. He found out they were testing on her, and he started moving through the system to expose it.”

“He stayed in hiding to save my sister?”

“And to keep you clear of the crossfire. But Holt was supposed to protect you. He failed.”

I thought about Holt. The way he had appeared and vanished. The way he had looked at Ghost like he owed him something.

“He came to the clinic today,” I said.

“I know. He’s the one who convinced me to leave the crate here.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Because he’s dying. And he wanted to end the lie before he couldn’t anymore.”

The news settled over me like a weight. I didn’t want to feel sorry for him.

“Do you know where Ethan is?” I asked.

“He’s at an old weather station in the Blue Ridge. It used to be a listening post during the Cold War. It’s off-grid, solar powered, and invisible to most satellite sweeps.”

“Can you take me there?”

“I can give you the coordinates.”

“Why not take me yourself?”

Elena hesitated.

“Because I’m being tracked. The same people who took Mara have been following me for a month. If I lead them to Ethan, he’s dead. You need to go alone. Take the tunnel access under the station’s west perimeter. Use Ghost. He’ll get you through the fence.”

“What about Carter?”

“Whatever you do, don’t let him come with you. He’s not who he says he is.”

A voice echoed from the entrance of the storage yard.

“She’s right.”

We both spun.

Carter stood at the gate, hands raised. His face was lit by the single floodlight.

“I’m not the man I was when I came to your clinic. But I’m not your enemy either.”

Elena stepped in front of me.

“You’re a ghost, Mark. You’ve been dead for seven years. The only reason you’re still breathing is because Ethan saved you.”

Carter lowered his arms.

“I know.”

I looked between them, my heart racing.

“What does he mean, you’re a ghost?”

Carter stepped forward slowly.

“I was the second survivor, Madison. I was the other operative extracted from Night Lantern. Ethan and I were in the same holding cell before the raid. He didn’t just survive because of luck. He survived because I helped him escape. And then they buried me under a new identity to keep me silent.”

“But the call sign Carter,” I said, “was a medic in my old unit.”

“He existed. And I was sent to replace him after he died in Syria. It was the only cover they had left that could make me disappear.”

“So you’ve been lying to me the whole time.”

“I was protecting you.”

“Everyone keeps saying that.” My voice cracked. “And yet every time someone protects me, I lose someone else.”

Ghost whined.

He walked to Carter and pressed his head into the man’s hand.

I stared.

“Ghost trusts you.”

“He’s known the truth longer than you have,” Carter said quietly.

I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to hit him. But my legs felt weak, and my chest was caving in.

“Mara is alive,” I managed.

Carter looked at Elena, then back at me.

“She’s alive. But they’re moving her tonight. If we want to stop them, we have to go now.”

“Where?”

“The same weather station Ethan is at. They’re transferring her there to meet with a buyer.”

I picked up the map, traced the red circle with my thumb.

“Then we go together.”

“No,” Elena said. “He comes with you. I’ll drive a decoy north to draw them off. You take the back roads. Ghost leads if the GPS goes dark.”

I looked at her.

“Why would you sacrifice yourself like that?”

Elena smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“Because my brother was on that mission too. And he never came home. I’ve been waiting for the chance to burn the people who erased him.”

The words echoed into the night.

I tightened the leash in my hand.

“Then let’s end it.”

We moved out of the storage yard.

Carter grabbed a duffel bag from his truck and handed me a vest.

“Put it on.”

“I know how to wear one.”

He didn’t argue.

The drive took four hours.

The sky turned gray by the time we reached the foothills of the Blue Ridge. Dense fog wrapped around the trees like wet wool.

Carter drove with his headlights off through the final stretch, following a dirt track that didn’t appear on any map.

Ghost sat motionless in the back seat, ears swiveled forward.

I checked the map one last time.

“The tunnel entrance should be another half mile.”

Carter pulled over behind a collapsed barn. The truck engine ticked as it cooled.

I looked at the tree line through the windshield.

“What if they know we’re coming?”

“They do,” Carter said.

“Then why are we still here?”

“Because they don’t know about Ghost.”

I heard the truth in his voice.

Ethan had trained Ghost for this exact kind of operation. Silent entry. Scent detection. Two-way communication through subtle gestures that no camera would catch.

“You stay with the truck,” I said.

“No.”

“Ghost and I go in first. If we’re not back in forty minutes, you call it in.”

“There’s no one to call.”

“Then you come find us.”

Carter held my gaze for a long second, then nodded.

I stepped out into the cold.

Ghost jumped down and pressed close to my leg.

The fog swallowed us as we moved into the tree line.

I remembered the perimeter protocol from old training. Walk the dead yard, Ethan had said. A dead yard was the strip of ground between the outer fence and the inner wall. Empty. Open. Lit only by weak moonlight.

Ghost walked ahead, low to the ground, each step measured.

A fence appeared out of the fog. Chain link. Topped with loose wire. On the other side, the silhouette of a concrete building hunched against the mountain.

I crouched.

Ghost froze.

A light swept across the interior of the compound. A guard patrol. The beam passed within inches of my position.

I held my breath.

When the light vanished, Ghost moved.

He followed the fence line until he found a gap where a burrow had been dug. Old, collapsed, barely wide enough for a man.

I squeezed through.

Ghost slipped through beside me like water.

The back of the building had a rusted steel door. Painted over. Faded number scratched into the frame.

53.

7.

The numbers were barely visible.

I reached for the handle.

Ghost placed his paw against my leg.

“What is it?” I whispered.

He pulled away, taking two steps to the right, and placed his nose against an access panel hidden beneath a loose vent.

I pried it open.

Inside was a keypad.

I tried the code from the letter’s hint: 537. The coordinates.

The panel let out a soft beep and clicked open.

Ghost pushed the vent wide enough to crawl through.

The inside was pitch black.

I pulled out my flashlight, covering the lens with two fingers until the beam was a narrow crack.

Ghost moved like he knew every inch of this place.

He led me down a stairwell, past rows of old equipment, cables coiled along the floor like sleeping snakes.

Then he stopped.

Ahead was a heavy security door. Sealed with a steel I-beam across the frame.

From behind it, I heard a voice. Quiet. Exhausted.

“Ghost?”

I felt my entire world tilt.

The voice was Ethan’s.

Ghost whined and scratched at the door.

I moved the beam of light across the door’s latch. A simple mechanical lock. No electronic pad.

I pressed my forehead against the cold steel.

“Ethan.”

A pause. Then his voice again, heavy with disbelief.

“Madison?”

“I’m here.”

“How did you find me?”

“Your dog.”

The machine hummed. The lock was worn, old.

I pulled off my jacket, wrapped it around the latch, and yanked with everything I had.

The lock snapped.

The door opened with a groan.

Ethan Cross stood in the center of the room, thinner than I remembered, hair longer, a scar cutting across his jaw. His hands were cuffed behind his back. A chain trailed to a ring in the floor.

Ghost rushed to him, tail spinning.

Ethan dropped to his knees and buried his face in the dog’s fur.

“Hey, boy,” he whispered.

I stood frozen in the doorway.

He looked up at me.

The seven years fell away.

“I never stopped thinking about you,” he said.

“I never stopped looking for you.”

“I know. I saw the records.”

I crossed the room in three steps and wrapped my arms around him, chain and all.

He rested his forehead against mine.

“Mara is in the east wing,” he said. “They’re moving her at dawn.”

“We’re getting her out.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It never is.”

I pulled the knife from my ankle and cut through the chain.

Ethan rubbed his wrists. When he stood, he winced, leaning on me.

“I’m hurt worse than I let on.”

“I can fix that later. First we get your sister.”

He looked at me, then at Ghost.

“She’s not my sister.”

“Elena said—“

“Mara is your twin, Madison. She’s not mine. I was sent to protect her, and I failed.”

His voice cracked.

I held his face in my hands.

“You didn’t fail. We’re here now.”

He swallowed, then nodded.

“Follow me.”

We moved through the underground corridors. Ghost walked point.

The east wing door was guarded by a single man in a civilian jacket.

Ghost took him down before he could raise the alarm.

The door behind the guard was heavier. Military grade.

Ethan punched a code into a wall panel.

The lock turned with a heavy click.

Inside, the room was white. Fluorescent light. A hospital bed. A woman sat upright on the edge of it, watching the door.

She had my face.

It was like looking into a warped mirror. The same eyes. The same shape of the chin. But her gaze was harder. More guarded.

“Mara,” I said.

She didn’t react at first. Then she looked past me, to Ethan.

“You came back.”

“I brought someone.”

Mara’s eyes settled on me.

“So it’s true,” she whispered. “I have a sister.”

I crossed the room.

The two of us stood there, separated by seven years of secrets, across a gap of missing memories.

“They wiped us from each other’s lives,” I said.

“I remember you,” Mara said. “I remember waiting under a tree. You had a yellow ribbon in your hair.”

The image flashed through my mind. A hot summer. A yellow ribbon. Two small girls laughing.

“I remember too,” I said.

Her hand reached out and took mine.

“Then let’s go,” she said.

We left the room together.

Ghost led us back through the tunnels, into the fog and the cold gray dawn.

Carter was waiting at the tree line.

When he saw Mara, his face went slack.

“River,” he breathed.

Mara stopped.

“You were supposed to be dead.”

“So were you.”

Ethan looked at both of them, then at me.

“We need to move. They’ll wake up soon.”

We piled into the truck and drove into the mountains as the sun crested the ridge.

Behind us, the weather station burned silent in the mist.

No one followed.

The road curved away, and the valley closed behind us like a door.

Ghost rested his head on Ethan’s knee.

Mara sat beside me, gripping my hand like she was afraid I would vanish.

“What happens now?” she asked.

I looked at Ethan.

He gave a tired smile.

“We disappear for a little while,” he said. “And then we start telling the truth.”

I wanted to believe him.

But the key was still in my pocket. The letter still felt warm in my jacket. And somewhere in the trees, I felt eyes we hadn’t found yet.

Ghost lifted his head.

He looked back through the rear window.

He let out a low, steady growl.

I tightened my grip on Mara’s hand and watched the road disappear behind us, knowing we weren’t done running yet.